


Stripped

by RobotSquid



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: Edamura in a Dress, Frottage, Genderfluid Abby, Genderfluid Edamura, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobotSquid/pseuds/RobotSquid
Summary: “He’s just trying to help you out,” Abby continued with a shrug.  “About the dress thing.”“What—” Makoto started to say, then his words caught in his throat, his chest tightening.  After a moment he forced out, “Wait…what do you mean ‘thing’?”Abby turned to look at him with that ice cold stare of hers.  “The fact that you want to wear a dress.”
Relationships: Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 11
Kudos: 453





	Stripped

**Author's Note:**

> Good evening everyone, what you are about to read is targeted propaganda manufactured by me in order to spread my agenda of putting Edamura Makoto in a dress. I hope you enjoy <3

There were times when Makoto was really bad at being subtle. He could lie with the best of them and his acting skills were second to none, but when it came to certain things—things that maybe he didn’t want to admit—he was laughably transparent.

It took Laurent a few days to figure out what was really going on. The first time he caught Makoto staring at Cynthia in her dark blue evening gown, he’d just assumed that he was taken by her beauty. And who wouldn’t be, with the way the silk clung to her hips and her breasts filled out the sleek material. Everybody stared when Cynthia dressed like that.

He saw Makoto staring at Abby the same way one night when she’d been forced into a dress against her will. Abby looked great in anything—though it was always obvious she was a little uncomfortable—but there was something else in his eyes. That night, Abby tore off the dress the instant she stepped back into the hotel room and went for the shower, ignoring Cynthia’s admonitions that she was going to ruin the dress if she treated it like that.

Makoto, instead of watching Abby walk out of the room half-naked, was staring at the discarded dress on the floor. That was when everything clicked, and Laurent took a sip of his drink to hide his grin. _Interesting_ , he thought to himself.

For a while, he just tucked the information away, unsure of what to do with it. Laurent kept it to himself until one day, when they were all out shopping for new clothes—just a little splurging trip that Cynthia had forced them all to go on—and Makoto refused to try on any suits. He only kept saying that nothing looked good, everything was too expensive (a ridiculous notion), or that he didn’t need anything new.

Laurent was just about fed up after being told “no” for the tenth time when he remembered.

“All right,” he said with a smile, taking Makoto by the arm. “Let’s look over here.”

Makoto rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be led. But once he saw where they were going, he stopped heavy in his tracks.

“Is this a joke?” he asked lowly.

“What?” Laurent replied with an innocent grin, standing at the entrance to the women’s department.

“Don’t ‘what’ me!” Makoto shouted, reddening rapidly when he realized how loud his voice had been.

“Well, you didn’t like any of the menswear, I thought we could try something different.” Laurent tried to give him a genuine smile, but the look Makoto sent back told him he hadn’t been successful.

Makoto turned on his heel and left the store in a huff, not even looking back as he stomped out the door.

“What’d you do?” came Abby’s voice from behind him.

“I’m afraid I’ve hurt his feelings somehow,” Laurent sighed.

Makoto didn’t bother going back to the hotel right away. Laurent would only be there later, or at least try to look for him there, and Makoto didn’t want to see him. At least not until he untangled the heavy knot that laid in his stomach.

He passed some storefronts with evening gowns in the windows and tried not to stop and stare. He cut across the street and ducked into a public park, where he collapsed in a heap on a bench.

He’d thought that Laurent couldn’t possibly sink any lower, but Makoto should have known better. Teasing and unwanted flirting were one thing, but suggesting that Makoto wear an actual dress? And to do something like that in public, where anybody could see?

The embarrassment was bad enough. What was worse was that, if nobody else had been around, if there hadn’t been the chance of anyone seeing…maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. Just to browse, that is. Not actually try anything on, and _certainly_ not to buy one.

“Hey.”

Makoto fell completely off the bench in his shock, hitting his head on an inconveniently placed rock. He sat up, cussing under his breath, and saw Abby standing nearby.

“What do you want?” he growled, rubbing his forehead and mourning the loss of his dignity.

“You ran off,” Abby said matter-of-factly, and sat beside him. “I figured coming to look for you was better than listening to Laurent cry about it.”

At the mention of Laurent, Makoto felt his hackles go up. “Well,” he said as he got to his feet, “I want to be alone.”

“Okay.” She didn’t move.

For a while they sat there, side by side, watching the people go by. Makoto hadn’t actually wanted her to leave. The fact that she knew that was one of the reasons why they were so close.

“He doesn’t mean anything bad by it, you know,” Abby said after about fifteen minutes of silence.

Makoto’s mood _had_ been getting better until just now. “Yeah?” he growled. “Then what does he mean?”

“He’s just trying to help you out,” Abby continued with a shrug. “About the dress thing.”

“What—” Makoto started to say, then his words caught in his throat, his chest tightening. After a moment he forced out, “Wait…what do you mean ‘thing’?”

Abby turned to look at him with that ice cold stare of hers. “The fact that you want to wear a dress.”

It cut so sharply to the heart of things Makoto didn’t even feel it. Was it that obvious? Wait, what _was_ obvious? That he _wanted_ to try on a dress? Actually wanted to? And everyone knew and nobody told him?

“I…” he stammered.

“It’s not a big deal,” said Abby. “Cynthia was wearing this pantsuit one time and I thought she looked really good in it, so she got me one of my own. It didn’t quite feel right though. But then one night we were drinking and she went and stole one of Laurent’s really nice Italian suits.” Abby grinned slyly. “Don’t tell him. I definitely spilled whiskey on it.”

Makoto, despite himself, laughed a little.

“That one felt better,” Abby went on. “I don’t know. It didn’t really fit me right. But it wasn’t about that, you know?”

There was another pause, heavier and more salient. “Yeah…” Makoto conceded, looking down at his hands. “Yeah.”

“Hey, we’re about the same size, right?” asked Abby.

“Probably. Why?”

Laurent was pretty sure he knew what was going on when later, Makoto threw an Italian suit at him saying, “I want this one” and Abby gave him a red silk gown saying, “And this one’s for me,” but he feigned ignorance with a smile.

In the days following, he ached to say something. But he knew if he pushed his luck too far too soon, he might not get what he was really after: the sight of Makoto in that beautiful crimson dress. It excited Laurent more than he cared to admit to imagine what it would look like. He’d pictured Makoto in so many different styles and every single color, but now that there was a real, actual dress that he would soon wear, it brought a powerful clarity to his illicit thoughts.

In the end, Laurent didn’t need to wait long. They were all sitting in the living room of their hotel suite, and somebody—Cynthia—had ordered five bottles of champagne from room service. A deck of cards came out, a poker game started up, and Laurent remembered how fun it was to play a game when everybody knew everyone else was cheating.

“That’s it, I’m out,” Abby said after a couple hours, throwing her cards down and reaching for her glass as Cynthia refilled it. “I’m done.”

“Oh come on,” Laurent laughed even as he pulled the pile of cash towards him. “We’re just getting started.”

“I’m out of money,” was all Abby said in response.

“So bet your shirt.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Should have known this would turn into strip poker sooner or later.”

“If you wanted to see tits, you should have just said so,” Cynthia said with a raucous laugh. Out of everyone, her face was the reddest.

“Don’t just give it away, Cynthia,” Makoto slurred. “Make the bastard earn it, at least.”

Laurent swung his gaze over to where Makoto sat on the floor, and his dark, hazy eyes locked with Laurent’s. Even though they were glassy with drunkenness, Laurent could detect some kind of clarity within them. For an instant, Laurent couldn’t hear a single thing in the room except his own deep breathing, and an idea gripped him so swiftly and tightly he had to clench his fist, cracking his knuckles quietly.

“I have a better idea,” Laurent said, after taking a generous sip of his drink. “Reverse strip poker.”

“What, like putting clothes _on_?” Cynthia asked. “How is that any fun?”

“Because there’s two perfectly good outfits just sitting in the closet, and neither Abby nor Edamame has let them see the light of day.”

Makoto and Abby shared a glance. Makoto burst into nervous laughter, while Abby simply got to her feet and walked across the room. When she returned, she was carrying her suit and Makoto’s dress, both still sitting in their department store boxes.

“You mean these, right?” she asked in an unreadable tone.

Laurent locked eyes with Makoto, who hurriedly lifted his glass to his lips to avoid his gaze. Laurent smirked.

“Let’s deal a new hand then.”

Laurent was going to lose his mind. It had been an hour and Makoto hadn’t lost a single hand. The dress was sitting, unused, unworn, _taunting_ him in that box. Laurent had lost almost every dollar he’d won so far; none of his usual tricks worked. Makoto was outplaying him at every turn, in what had to be a deliberate torture to avoid putting the dress on.

Abby, meanwhile, had never looked so happy losing. She had on her crisp white shirt, which fit her so well it looked like it had been tailored. The pants looked just as sharp, and it seemed she was itching to throw the current hand so she could finally put on the jacket. Laurent could swear he’d never seen her smile like this.

“Abby, you look so handsome,” Cynthia giggled. “You simply must let me take you for a drink. I’ll hang off your arm and fight all the other girls for your attention.”

Abby laughed. Normally she would have ignored Cynthia’s drunken ramblings, but Laurent could see that wearing the suit was really doing it for her. It was nice, seeing this side of her.

And it made him want to see the same side of Makoto.

Makoto, who still wouldn’t look at him, who still refused to lose a hand, who was still no closer to putting on the dress than an hour ago.

Makoto, who was now yawning and stretching his arms in the air. “I think I’m done.”

“What?” Laurent exclaimed, a bit too loud, at the same time that Cynthia let out a disappointed groan.

“What, midnight already, Cinderella?” Cynthia teased. “I wanted to see your ball gown!”

“Maybe another time,” Makoto laughed, getting to his feet. He still— _still_ —would not look at Laurent. Laurent gripped his whiskey glass so tight he wondered if he could actually break it.

“I’m done too, then,” Abby said. She reached for the jacket and happily slipped it on. Cynthia told her to stand up, turn around, show her every angle, while Laurent watched Makoto stalk off to bed.

Laurent took a heavy sip of his drink. He wasn’t getting off that easy.

“If you’re gonna jerk off,” Abby said dryly, “don’t do it in the shower. It’s gross when you do that.”

“Huh?” Laurent’s head snapped around, his trance broken.

“I can practically _smell_ how horny you are,” said Abby.

“I don’t blame him,” Cynthia sighed. “Edamame _would_ look really cute in a dress. I’m a little disappointed too, if I’m being honest.”

Laurent, despite his tension, couldn’t help but laugh. The women knew him too well.

Makoto couldn’t sleep. He had no idea what he was doing, or what he expected to happen now. He’d seen what was going on with Laurent plain as day the minute their eyes met out in the living room, the moment Makoto realized that Laurent really wanted see him in that dress. Not just “wanted” – he was _dying_ to see it.

That excited Makoto in a way that made everything click. It wasn’t just the fact of wearing the dress, it was the idea that someone might look at him and think he was pretty. That he was worthy of being looked at and admired. He’d never imagined that Laurent would be that someone…

…but he’d hoped it. He’d hoped it so much it hurt.

He kicked the blankets off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Clicking on the light, he ran his hand over his face and stared at where the dress had been laid out over a chaise lounge in the corner. Before he could change his mind, Makoto got up, pulling off his pajama top as he went. He grabbed up the dress and walked over to the mirror. He held it up to his body, looking at it, calculating, turning things over in his mind.

Makoto took in a huge breath and exhaled sharply. He unzipped the back of the dress and stepped into it, still wearing his pajama bottoms. Only once he’d pulled it up to his shoulders did he realize that he really ought to have someone help him zip it back up again. With a little contortion of his arms, he was able to get it halfway done.

And so, he stood there, looking at himself in the mirror, wearing the overpriced red dress Laurent had bought for him. It cut a flat line across his chest, small yet wide straps hugging the sides of his shoulders. There was a slit going up the leg—scandalously high, he realized now with a blush—through which peeked his flannel pajamas. He stood there, thinking it over, and before he could talk himself out of it, he reached under the skirt and pulled the pajamas away.

Now it all came together. He was wearing it— _really_ wearing it now. A small smile spread across his face and the anxious heat in his body began to cool. He could barely tell that the dress hadn’t been tailored just for him. It clung to him in all the best ways, just the way he’d always imagined. And it felt _so_ nice against his bare skin, the silk a soft, cool liquidity that encompassed his every curve. Makoto stood sideways and looked at himself from a different angle.

He thought about getting his phone and taking a picture to send to Abby, but then there came a knock at the door.

Makoto barely held back a startled yelp as the sound burst through his moment. Who the hell was it? And at this time of night?

“Wh-what?” he snapped, sounding more angry than he meant to. _Shit, shit, this is the worst possible time…._

“Edamame?”

Makoto froze, his stomach dropping all the way to the ground floor of the hotel. _Not him…oh God, I’m not ready for this…_.

“What is it?” he yelled back. He reached around, trying to grab the zipper to pull the dress off, but it eluded him at every turn. “I’m sleeping!”

“You sound pretty awake,” said Laurent smugly from behind the door. “Can I come in?”

“ _NO!_ ” Makoto winced. He hadn’t meant to be quite that loud.

“Is something wrong?” Damn him, he actually sounded concerned.

Makoto felt his mouth go dry. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Every bit of him was screaming that Laurent needed to leave, and yet, he desperately wanted to open the door. He wanted to see Laurent’s eyes take in this sight, he wanted Laurent to see how beautiful he was in this dress, how perfect, how desirable….

But that was stupid. Laurent didn’t even know how Makoto felt about him. Makoto himself barely knew. The closest he could come to describing it was an itching magnetism, a deep need to be close to him; nothing was ever close enough. Even in the moments he hated him—maybe even especially then—it was all Makoto could do sometimes to not throw himself at Laurent and meet him as an equal, strip the both of them down to their rawest levels and see where things went.

“Edamame?”

Makoto’s head jerked up. He must have been standing here in silence for a while, because suddenly, Laurent was in the room. He’d opened the door without waiting for an invitation, and the look on his face was….

Was Laurent actually speechless?

Makoto felt his whole body flush red. “I…” he tried to say, but his throat was closing up.

Laurent seemed to not be listening anyway. His eyes moved slowly, _so_ slowly, down the length of Makoto’s body, taking in every last inch of him before moving on to the next. Makoto might as well have been naked for how exposed he felt with those blue eyes on him. He could swear that Laurent was gripping the door handle with all his strength.

Laurent swallowed. Makoto watched his throat move, and in that moment he realized the depths of the tension that was already in Laurent’s body.

“Well,” Laurent said with a little smile. “Look at you.”

Makoto was very aware of his own hands. He fidgeted for a bit before finally just crossing his arms. “Are you here to laugh?” he huffed. It didn’t come out quite the way he meant. Instead of sounding annoyed, he’d just managed to sound…hopeful?

“I don’t see anything funny here,” said Laurent. “I see…something I want to know more about.”

Makoto steeled his expression. “Well,” he managed to say, “just…close the door already.”

Laurent stepped inside, his every movement quiet as a cat, and gently shut the door behind him. He walked closer to Makoto, looking him over with a meticulous eye.

“You’re not zipped up all the way,” he observed. His tone was completely unreadable.

“I couldn’t reach,” Makoto said. He tried to look anywhere but Laurent’s eyes. They were so piercing, so blue, so light that if he looked at them, he thought he might drown and lose before this whole thing started. Laurent wasn’t wearing pajamas; in fact, he still wore the clothes they had played poker in, only he’d taken his jacket off and was left in his white shirt and neatly pressed pants. He had suspenders on. God, why did he have to be wearing the suspenders? Makoto’s mind went all sorts of places whenever he saw them. He could never understand why.

“Shall I help?” Laurent said. His voice must have dropped a fraction of an octave.

Makoto took in a deep, slow breath through his nostrils. “Sure.”

He turned around, facing the mirror, and felt Laurent’s presence as he walked up behind him. Makoto flashed back to another time, another place years and years ago, the first time they’d met. Laurent placing a pocket square in his jacket pocket, his large, sure hands on Makoto’s shoulders as he dressed him up so nicely.

Maybe that had been the first moment. Looking back, Makoto didn’t know how he’d lied to himself for that long. Then again, lying had always come easy to him.

Laurent gripped the zipper and pulled it up, and the dress came in snugly. “There we are.”

Makoto turned around again and looked up into Laurent’s face. Laurent was smiling, the little crooked curve his lips a maddening sight. He stepped back, looking Makoto up and down again, then sat down on the edge of the bed.

The bed…Laurent was on the bed. Makoto breathed in again. _Okay…okay. He’s here. I can do this. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I just want…I just want to…._

“How do I look?” Makoto asked, placing his hands on his hips.

“Beautiful,” Laurent purred. “Très joli.”

_That’s not fair_ , Makoto thought angrily as the French words sent waves through his body. He was committed to not showing it.

“Am I more beautiful than Cynthia?”

“That depends on if she’s listening.”

“You like it when someone watches?”

“I practically expect it.”

Makoto swallowed. He was losing his nerve, but he was going to power through. He wanted this too badly to let it stop.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Laurent rubbed his chin, making a show of thinking about it. “It’s hard to say that anyone could match Cynthia’s beauty…except for this, of course. Except for you.”

Despite himself, Makoto gave a small, almost shy smile at that.

“Why didn’t you let me see earlier?” Laurent asked. “You must have seen that it was driving me crazy.”

Makoto had seen; in fact, if anything, it had just served to make him more nervous. “I guess…that I just wasn’t ready.”

That was a lie. The truth was, if Makoto had put on the dress in the living room with everybody else, he would have had to see Laurent looking at him just as he was now, and Makoto would not have been able to control himself then. He would have been overcome by the need to satisfy all the hunger in Laurent’s eyes.

“But,” Makoto continued, his smile widening, “isn’t the waiting a little better?”

Laurent leaned back on one arm and reached a finger under the collar of his own shirt, loosening it slightly. “I’m very good at waiting, but even I have my limits.”

Something in Makoto’s resolve steadied, and he took a deep breath. He wanted this, Laurent wanted this – what point was there in waiting any longer?

He took two long strides forward and grabbed Laurent’s suspenders, then pulled him roughly to crush their lips together. It was a bit sloppy, and it almost hurt, but Makoto could feel Laurent’s stubble, could smell the cologne that still stuck to him, could taste the remains of the whiskey from what had to be mere moments before. He was so lost in it, his heart was racing and rattling his brain. Strong, heavy hands were on his cheeks, and Makoto didn’t remember when they’d gotten there.

Laurent was kissing him back, rough and hungry as he bit at Makoto’s lips. He was pushing forth into Makoto so hard that he felt he was being crushed, like if he wasn’t careful he could let himself be consumed.

Makoto let go of the suspenders and they slapped loudly against Laurent’s chest. He grabbed Laurent’s head in his hands, running his fingers through the soft blonde hair, and put one knee on the bed between Laurent’s spread legs.

“What’s this?” Laurent mumbled, pulling away from Makoto’s lips with a self-assured grin.

Makoto wanted to scream at the loss of contact. “What?” he snapped.

Then he realized – Laurent’s hand was on his thigh, exposed through the slit. He pushed his palm up Makoto’s hot skin, up the leg, all the way to where the dress fabric began again. His fingertips poked underneath, and he laughed softly as his touch met Makoto’s boxers.

“You can’t wear these with this dress,” Laurent said lowly as Makoto’s face colored. Laurent leaned closer, right up against his ear, and said, even softer, “You should have told me you needed matching underthings.”

A full, rocking shudder went through Makoto’s body, and he took a deep breath to try to mask it.

“These just don’t go at all.”

Before he knew it, Laurent’s hands were both completely up Makoto’s dress, and he grabbed his boxers and tugged them down.

Makoto jerked back, too surprised to know what to do next, but the boxers were stuck around his thighs. He fell forward into Laurent’s arms, who was now laughing uproariously. Laurent fell back on the bed, holding Makoto close to his chest.

“That’s rude, you fucking asshole!” Makoto sputtered out, punching Laurent in the shoulder as hard as he could in this awkward position.

“I think you’re the rude one, keeping me waiting like this,” Laurent laughed. Makoto was about to cuss him out more, but suddenly found himself flipped over, their positions reversed with Laurent staring down at him with devious eyes.

Any protests he may have had died in his throat. Something about being underneath Laurent, with all the man’s attention on him, his weight and his hands and his naked desire…it killed all the indignation inside him. The fact that Laurent was holding both his wrists hard enough to sting did nothing to stem the sudden desire to let Laurent do whatever he wanted to him.

But of course, he couldn’t _show_ that, so he just fell silent and kept scowling.

Laurent, seemingly satisfied, leaned in for another long, deep kiss, his tongue poking and invading Makoto’s mouth like it belonged to him. Makoto felt his legs shaking as he barely held back the impulse to wrap them around Laurent’s waist.

To his chagrin, as the slow seconds wore on, Makoto couldn’t resist letting out a needy sigh, a capitulation that he knew would shift the power further in Laurent’s favor. He was filled with wanting but unable to name it, consumed by unknowable hunger. There was nothing he could do but beg Laurent to give him anything at all.

“Please,” Makoto mumbled as Laurent’s lips traveled down to his neck.

“Please what?” Laurent’s voice was muffled against his skin.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Makoto wailed quietly. “Just…please.”

Laurent bit sharply down on the spot of skin he’d been sucking, and Makoto gasped embarrassingly loud. One of Laurent’s hands came down on his mouth, silencing him and stinging where he’d been hit. Makoto took advantage of his newly freed hand to grab at Laurent’s suspenders and pull one of them off his shoulder. He wrenched free his other hand and did the same with the other side.

Laurent sat up with a speed Makoto hadn’t been expecting. His hands worked frantically at the button and zipper of his pants, and when he pushed everything down to his knees Makoto’s throat dried up at the sight of his cock springing free. He barely had time to really take it in, or fix the sight in his memory, before Laurent was upon him again.

He could swear he heard Laurent exhaling his name as he came back in for more kisses, deeper and harder and more desperate than any from before. And not the little nickname he used, not Edamame or Edamura, but _Makoto, Makoto, Makoto…._

Part of him had always assumed that if this unbelievable meeting should ever happen, Laurent might deign to go through the motions but not really be there. He would probably be thinking of somebody else, a person more experienced or better in bed or someone he loved more. But to hear his own name on Laurent’s lips, with such a reverence that it could be nothing other than true, bare need….

Makoto did his best to wriggle out of his boxers, a feat made nearly impossible by the way Laurent’s hips laid heavily on his own. Laurent reached down and hooked his arm around Makoto’s left leg, pulling it up to rest over his shoulder, and Makoto felt the searing heat of their erections push together.

He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to put his hands, didn’t know if he was supposed to do _anything_ or if Laurent was fully in charge. The question was answered almost as soon as he wondered it, so quickly that Makoto thought he may have said something aloud. Laurent grabbed up both his wrists on one hand, holding them both solidly against the mattress above Makoto’s head. The other hand was wrapped around both their cocks at once, and the sensation of tightness made Makoto dizzy.

He rocked his hips into Laurent, meeting his every thrust as best he could. He could barely move, and he loved it even as he strained with all his might to break free. Laurent was holding him tight, keeping him captive as he did in all things, despite Makoto’s every attempt to run away.

With how excited Laurent was, and how wound up Makoto was, somehow Laurent was managing to drag everything out. Every moment that Makoto thought one of them was going to finish, Laurent knew exactly when to draw back and ease up. Makoto found himself wanting to scream or punch him or do _anything_ to make him stop teasing, but there was nothing he could do. Laurent had control of his lips, his hands, and the entire rest of his body. Makoto’s only job was to lie there and take it.

Eventually, not even Laurent could hold back any longer. Makoto felt the change in his movements, in the rough exhales spilling from Laurent’s mouth into his own. It was that, the sight of Laurent’s control slipping, that brought Makoto over the edge. He gasped sharply as his orgasm crashed into him, and it was so powerful it was like he had never come before in his life. He wanted it to last forever, he would have done anything to let the waves continue to pulse through him. Laurent still wasn’t done, and the remaining thrusts wrung out every last bit that Makoto had to give.

He felt the hot, wet spill of Laurent’s finish over his legs, and the pent-up tension in the room diffused like a sigh. Laurent slowly let go of Makoto’s wrists and panted softly into the space between them. This close, Makoto realized he had never seen Laurent’s eyes like this. Like the screen over them had lifted for just this moment, and there was something genuine there at last. He looked happy. Satisfied. It was a foreign thing, almost like he was a different person.

Makoto reached up and took Laurent’s face in his hands, pulling him back down for a kiss. It was strangely chaste after what they’d just done, just a press of lips against lips. As they broke away, Makoto could see the faint impression of Laurent’s grip on the skin of his wrists. He wondered if it might bruise, and hated that he hoped it would.

Unfortunately, this was the part Makoto had never thought of in all his fantasies. What were they supposed to do now?

Without a word, Laurent climbed off him and pulled up his pants. For a terrifying second Makoto was afraid he would just leave, but instead Laurent headed to the bathroom. There was the sound of running water, and Laurent returned with a washcloth. Makoto propped himself up on his elbows as Laurent delicately wiped down his thighs, taking great care that nothing ruined his dress.

Once that was over, they were left facing each other in silence.

What was Makoto supposed to say? “Thank you” seemed asinine, “that was good” felt cheap, “will you stay?” was too desperate.

“How was it, for your first time?” Laurent asked, idly fondling with his shirt cuffs.

Makoto was caught off guard. “Uh…” he mumbled, “good. Great, I mean! I, um….” God, this was awful.

Luckily, if Laurent was put off by his stammering, he didn’t show it. He chuckled softly and smiled. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that.”

_Me too. Years._ “Really?”

Laurent leaned down and kissed him again, and the touch of his hand on Makoto’s bare shoulder sent shudders through his whole body. “Yes, really.”

“Will you,” Makoto burst out, before he could lose his nerve, “will you stay? Just for the night?” He hated that he was asking this question. He hated exposing this much.

And just like that, the screen over Laurent’s eyes was back. “Not this time, love.”

This time, meaning there would be a next time? But why _not_ now? Makoto blinked, unsure what to make of this implication.

“Not all night, if you don’t want,” he offered, fully aware how needy he sounded now. “Just…just a little while?”

Laurent opened his mouth, then closed it. He furrowed his brow, sighing, and Makoto felt his heart swell at the sight of an uncertain Laurent. Such a rare sight for the self-assured blonde bastard.

“All right,” sighed Laurent, as if he had been thoroughly strong-armed. “Just a little while.”

Makoto grinned and reached for the rumpled comforter, pulling it back far enough for Laurent to climb in.

“You’d better take that dress off,” Laurent said with a laugh. “You don’t want to wrinkle it.”

“Oh…right.” He paused. “Uh…unzip me?”

Later, back in his pajamas and tucked up against Laurent’s chest, Makoto put all thoughts of tomorrow from his mind. Thinking ahead came so naturally to him that he sometimes felt like he didn’t even exist in the present moment, but he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Laurent had actually dozed off fairly quickly after they climbed into bed together, and it really was true how a person’s face changed when you saw them sleeping. For sure, Makoto had caught Laurent napping here and there, but those times seemed different than this, somehow. Maybe Laurent just slept better after sex; Makoto had no way of knowing.

Or at least, no way of knowing yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought with a comment! And feel free to come visit me at my [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/frozencalamari)!


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